Thunderstorms
by Azeia
Summary: Sherlock Holmes could handle anything. Except thunderstorms. John decides to comfort him. Rated M for language and slash.


Sherlock bolted up in bed as thunder cracked and lightning flashed blindingly. He blinked and looked around, registering his surroundings. He was in his own untidy bedroom and a particularly ferocious thunderstorm was going on. He whimpered and pulled the covers up to his chin. He absolutely hated thunderstorms. There was just something terrifying about all the thunder, lightning, and heavy rains. He didn't like being alone during these times, so he called out into the flat, "John?" When no reply came, he shouted louder, "JOHN!"

John bolted up from his sleep. Normally, thunder and lightning didn't bother him. This, however, this was one hell of a storm. It definitely didn't help his nightmares. Suddenly, he heard his name being screamed from Sherlock's room. He bolted downstairs, afraid the detective had found a way to hurt himself (again). What he found was an entirely different sight: Sherlock curled up, shaking, under a large cover.

"John," Sherlock whimpered, wrapping the duvet more tightly around him. "Will you stay in here with me, please?"

John's heart melted a bit at the normally tough detective shivering under a blanket. "Of course I will." He made his way over to the bed. "Budge up, you great lump. I have to get under these covers. It's bloody freezing."

Sherlock straightened out the sheets to allow John to cover up. As soon as he was under the sheets, Sherlock snuggled up close to John and laced his fingers through his. "Thank you," he whispered, laying his head on his chest.

John tensed a bit at Sherlock's touches. He had been thinking about the detective a bit too much for his liking... "No problem, Sherlock."

Sherlock laid there for a few minutes, enjoying the feeling of John's closeness. "John?" he spoke up suddenly.

John started, he had almost fallen asleep with the warmth of Sherlock's body enveloping him. "Mmm? What is is, Sher?"

"Are you attracted to me?" He asked with the air of someone doing an experiment.

John's breathing grew shallow. "Go to sleep, Sherlock. I'm not an experiment of yours to tamper with."

Sherlock frowned, raising up to look at John in the eyes. "I'm just curious. And you seem to be avoiding the question."

John looked back at Sherlock. "You're never 'just curious', Sherlock. I know you, remember? As I've said, I'm not one of your experiments."

"I'm not trying to experiment." he said softly. "I really just want to know."

John sighed. He knew he couldn't resist: not when Sherlock was curled up to him, fingers laced between his, head on his chest. "Well... Yeah, I suppose I am, a bit."

"Really?" Sherlock questioned, furrowing his brow thoughtfully. "Why?"

"You honestly don't know?" He chuckled at the thought. Another streak of lightning flashed across the sky, followed quickly by another boomcrash! of thunder.

Sherlock cried out and clutched John's arm more tightly. After his shaking died down, he replied, "No, I don't."

John put his arm around Sherlock, tight, to help him fight off the shaking. "You're brilliant, Sherlock. Absolutely, fantastically, brilliant. You're beautiful. You're the most beautiful man I've ever seen. You're sexy without knowing it... What's /not/ to like?"

John paused. "What about me? What do you think of me?"

Sherlock smiled and played with a loose string on John's shirt. "You're the only one that understands me. You're kind, caring, bloody adorable, and every time you walk into a room, everyone just smiles. You radiate warmth and compassion and I..." He blushed. "I love you, John."

"Wait," He said afterwards. "You think I'm sexy?"

John laid there, pressed to the mattress by Sherlock's words. He had no idea that Sherlock felt that way about him. He laughed. "Yes, I do."

Sherlock gazed into John's eyes, trying to decide if he was lying or not. He concluded that he wasn't and leaned, placing a soft, hesitant kiss on John's lips.

John's eyes fluttered closed as Sherlock kissed him, and brought a hand up to cup his cheek, holding him in place. Oh, this was good. /Very/ good.

Sherlock got as close as he could to John, wrapping his arms around his neck and deepening the kiss. The cautiousness gave way to something different. Desire. Need. Lust. He began to unbutton John's shirt, fumbling with the small buttons.

John groaned, deep in his throat, and let Sherlock start unbuttoning his shirt. Meanwhile, he tangled his hands in Sherlock's hair, pulling him close. He licked his way into Sherlock's mouth and /oh/! that hot, wet, mouth. Sherlock tasted so damn good.

Sherlock finally managed to unbutton John's shirt. He tugged on it a little. "Off," he mumbled against the other man's mouth.

"Up," John panted.

Sherlock moved off of John regretfully, wanting to keep contact with him. He was becoming achingly hard and wanted every bit of clothing to be off the both of them. Sherlock shrugged off his robe and tossed it on the floor, leaving him in just his boxers.

"Oh, fuck." John sat up, and pulled his shirt off, and quickly leaned down to undo his sleep pants. He pulled those off as well, only in his boxers. "Ready for this, /detective/?"

"Oh, I love it when you call me that." He growled, climbing back on top of John and kissing him fiercely.

John whimpered at the tone Sherlock used, as well as feeling Sherlock's erection press against his while he kissed him.

Sherlock ground against John as he moved to his neck, trailing desperate, wet kisses down it to his collarbone.

John reached down, and grabbed Sherlock's arse, slapping at it. Oh, fuck. What an arse it was.

"Oh, God..." Sherlock groaned, biting a little at John's neck. He put his lips next to his ear and whispered, "Fuck me, John."

"Fuck, yeah." John growled. "Get up and get your pants off. /Now./"

Sherlock gratefully obliged shifting slightly in order to pull off his boxers effectively. He tossed them on the floor in the general direction of the rest of their clothes and straddled John's hips, running his hands along the doctor's toned chest.

John moaned, loud and long at the sight of Sherlock's cock. "Oh, God. You're gonna kill me, Sher."

Sherlock smirked, moving his eyes up to John's, his pupils dilated. "I'm looking forward to it."

John's eyes narrowed. He could play too. "Get on your hands and knees. Now." he commanded. He leaned down, and whispered in Sherlock's ear: "Don't even think about disobeying. You don't want to know what I do to punish disobedient officers."

Sherlock's cock became even harder at those words, if that was even possible. He did as he was told and waited for John to make the next move.

John began pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses down Sherlock's spine. He paused, and pressed a kiss to Sherlock's entrance. "Do you want me to?" he asked, more than a hint of danger in his voice.

Sherlock could only manage to nod, his breath now coming out in short pants.

John took a moment to appreciate the arse that was before him. Round, firm, and just begging to be slapped and marked. John popped Sherlock on the cheek before leaning down and licking at Sherlock's entrance. He laved over the hole before coming to tongue-fuck it. He kept this up for several minutes, wanting to drive Sherlock mad.

Sherlock moaned and shut his eyes tight, his erection progressing from aching to downright painful. "John, please..." he begged, reaching down to stroke his cock.

John stopped his ministrations to say, "Please what, Sherlock? You have to ask nicely, you know."

"Please...get inside me." He moaned desperately. "Fuck me, John."

John was through playing, he couldn't tease any more. "I'm clean, you?"

"John, I have to tell you something." He said quickly.

"Oh, dear fuck, what is it, Sherlock?"

"I'm...I've never..." he stammered, blushing.

John stopped, blood rushing to his cheeks. He pulled Sherlock up to look at him. "You mean.. you're a... virgin?"

Sherlock blushed even harder and nodded.

John cupped Sherlock's face and kissed him gently, tenderly. "Are you sure you want to do this?"

Sherlock bit his lip and nodded again. "Yes," he said. "I want this."

"I don't suppose you have lube?"

"Actually," Sherlock said, smiling. "If you check in the bedside table drawer, there should be some."

"Ever surprising." John said, and winked. "Now, I think I'll let you start yourself off. Go on," he leaned in, "get yourself ready for me, /detective/."

Sherlock looked at John blankly. "And, uh...how exactly do I go about doing that?"

John grinned. "Lube up your fingers."

Sherlock reached over and took the lube from the drawer and applied some to his fingers. "Mmkay, now what?"

"Be gentle, but stick one up your arse. Be easy, it'll be a little tough the first time." Oh, God. Watching Sherlock finger himself was going to test John's self control.

Sherlock did as he was told, entering one finger first. He gasped when he got it passed the little ring of muscle. "Okay," he groaned. "Next?"

Nope. Not tonight. There was no way John was going to let Sherlock do that alone. "Pass me the lube," he said, his voice huskier than he'd ever heard it.

Sherlock handed the bottle to John quickly, pulling his finger out. "Did I do something wrong?" he asked shyly.

"God, no. I just wanted to help." John slicked up, and gently, put a finger into Sherlock's hole. Ohholyfuck, it felt like Sherlock's arse was eating his finger. He began to move, gently, and just brushed the tip of Sherlock's prostate.

Sherlock moaned and arched his back. "Oh, good God, what the hell was that?"

John didn't answer, just repeated the movement. Oh God, he could hear Sherlock moan for the rest of his life, and it wouldn't be enough.

Sherlock bucked his hips and moaned even louder, digging his fingers into the comforter. "God, John...oh, God..." He gasped and tilted his head back.

John pulled his finger out, after loosening Sherlock up a bit more. "Okay, we're gonna try two fingers now."

Sherlock bit his lip and gripped the covers tighter as he waited anxiously for John to follow through.

John applied more lube, and slowly slid two fingers into Sherlock, scissoring them. He brushed Sherlock's prostate, a little harder this time.

Sherlock let out another moan he was sure people all the way in North America could hear. He placed a hand over his mouth, not wanting to wake Mrs. Hudson.

"Oh, what the fuck are you keeping quiet for? That's the sexiest thing I've ever heard." John deliberately brushed Sherlock's prostate, while reaching to stroke Sherlock's cock with the other hand.

Sherlock was momentarily blinded by a moment of pure, white ecstasy. The feeling was utterly overwhelming. He bit his hand to keep from crying out again. "I'm not...I don't think it'd be...preferred for Mrs. Hudson to walk in on us..." he gasped.

"She left for the weekend." John ground out. "To her sister's. Be as loud as you want." John pulled out again, and this time, returned with three fingers, pushing, opening, pressing.

Sherlock cried out in pleasure, nearly ripping the sheets apart in the process. "John...stop...stop..." he panted.

John immediately stopped. "What's wrong?"

"Too fast," he said, shaking his head. "I'll be too early."

John, in a lust-haze, didn't understand. "What?"

"I'll come too early, John." he said, his voice husky. "I want you inside me. /Now/."

John quickly complied, lining himself up and thrusting in with one hard, fast thrust. "Fuuuuuuuuck," he groaned, as he slid in. Hot, wet, tight... /perfect/.

Sherlock leaned back into John, loving the feeling of him inside. "Oh, John..." he breathed, closing his eyes.

John slowly began to pull out, only to change direction and push back in. He closed his eyes, feeling Sherlock take him in completely.

"Harder." he commanded, reaching down to stroke his cock rhythmically. "Faster."

John began to move faster, to slam into Sherlock. He changed angles a bit, making sure to slam against his prostate with every thrust.

"God, John, yes." Sherlock moaned, moving his fist in time to John's thrusts.

John didn't know if he could take much more, so he thrust even harder, and leaned down and whispered, "Come for me, Sherlock. Come with me in your arse. Scream my name."

Sherlock fisted himself even faster at John's words, feeling his orgasm quickly approaching. The coil in his stomach tightened as he came and released all over his hand and the bedsheets. "JOHN!" He cried as his body shuddered with intense pleasure.

Hearing, seeing, /feeling/ Sherlock come, it was too much. John followed suit, and released into Sherlock. "Oh, fuck, SHERLOCK." He screamed.

Sherlock collapsed onto the bed, panting. "That was...bloody. Fucking. Amazing." he said appreciatively.

John pulled out, and flopped down next to Sherlock. "Too right."

Sherlock leaned over and kissed John sweetly on the cheek. "Thank you," he said, noticing the lack of thunder and lightning.

"For having the best shag of my life? No thanks needed, baby." John chuckled. He looked at Sherlock, with a smile. "You're welcome. Are we going to do this every time you have a nightmare, then?"

"/Just/ when I have nightmares?" Sherlock gasped in mock horror. "That's blasphemy, John. We'll have to do this much more often than that."

John laughed. "Next time, you're topping. Understood?"

"Absolutely," Sherlock said, yawning and sinking down under the covers.

"Night. Love you." John murmured, as he slunk down next to Sherlock.

"Love you, too." Sherlock whispered, exhaustion overtaking him as he drifted off into a peaceful, dreamless sleep.

John awoke the next morning to find Sherlock draped over him. Completely, and utterly on top of him.

Sherlock stirred when John did, opening his his and smiling sleepily at his lover. "Good morning, love." He said, voice heavy with sleep.

John couldn't breathe. He shoved Sherlock off, breathed in deeply. "Morning, baby."

Sherlock huffed and laid back against the pillows. "You know, I'm not sure if I like being called 'baby'." He mused, crossing his arms. "I think I'm more like a 'darling'."

John smiled, and leaned over to kiss the detective. "Whatever you say, dear."

Sherlock kissed him back for a moment before his phone starting ringing. He pulled away and picked it up, reading the caller ID before answering it.

"What have you got?" He asked, his voice taking on a more professional quality. It was Lestrade with a case. "Really? Yes, of course, we'll be right there." He hung up the phone and jumped out of bed, grabbing a shirt and pair of pants from the closet. "Get dressed, John, we've got a case."

John sighed, and got up. He was chilly, but put on jeans and a jumper. He should have known. The work waits for no one and nothing, not even a night of mind-blowing sex.

After he was dressed, he turned to John and pulled him flush against his chest, kissing him heavily. He broke apart after about fifteen seconds, gasping. "We're doing it again when we get back home." He said, turning and walking out the door.

Needless to say, John didn't waste any time in running after him.


End file.
